The Blackwood estate had transformed into a hive of restless preparation. Servants hurried with trays of polished silver, florists carried towers of lilies that perfumed the air with sweetness too heavy to be comforting, and the walls echoed with footsteps and whispers.
The gala was not merely a party — it was a battlefield, and tonight Elena was expected to walk straight into enemy fire.
Grace appeared in the doorway, a bundle of pale silk cradled in her arms. She hesitated, shifting under Elena's gaze, before laying the garment carefully across the bed.
"This was sent up from Lady Cassandra's maid," Grace said, voice low as though the dress itself might be listening.
Elena blinked. "Cassandra sent this?"
"Yes, ma'am. She insisted this would be the most suitable gown for you tonight."
Elena reached out, her fingertips grazing the fabric. At first glance, it was breathtaking — a delicate ivory silk that shimmered like moonlight, its neckline modest yet elegant, the skirt flowing in soft folds. She could almost see herself gliding across the gala floor, finally looking like she belonged.
But as she lifted it fully, the illusion shattered. Threads dangled from the seams, fine stitches frayed and weak. It was the kind of gown that would betray its wearer at the first misstep, ready to tear under pressure and leave its victim exposed.
Her chest tightened.
This was no gift. It was a weapon.
Grace's brow furrowed with unease. "Shall I bring another, ma'am? Perhaps the navy gown? It's sturdier, and—"
"No," Elena said sharply, surprising even herself.
Grace blinked. "But—"
"If I refuse it, she wins." Elena's voice steadied, her grip on the dress firm. She turned toward the mirror, studying the pale girl staring back at her. The dark circles beneath her eyes spoke of sleepless nights, her lips pressed thin to hide the tremor of nerves. She looked small. Fragile. Out of place.
But beneath it all, a spark flickered.
"She wants me to walk into that hall and crumble," Elena said softly, more to herself than to Grace. "So I'll walk in. And I'll stand tall. If I fall, it won't be because I ran."
Grace's eyes softened, but her voice trembled. "You're braver than most who've sat at this table. But bravery doesn't stop knives."
Elena smoothed the silk across her arm, ignoring the dread that coiled tighter in her stomach. "Then let her try to cut me."
---
That evening, the grand doors of the gala hall opened to a flood of light and music. Chandeliers glittered like constellations, throwing shards of fire across marble floors polished to mirrors. Diamonds caught and flared on pale throats, laughter rang sharp as crystal, and the scent of wealth clung to every corner like perfume.
Elena entered on Adrian's arm. His presence was iron, tall and unyielding beside her, but his hand rested against hers like a man leading a stranger. He didn't look at her, didn't acknowledge her. His gaze was fixed forward, his jaw carved of stone.
She told herself not to care. She had expected nothing else.
Yet each step was a gauntlet.
The whispers slithered through the crowd, wrapping around her ankles like chains.
"That's her?"
"The contract bride."
"The pauper who bought her way into Blackwood blood."
"Cassandra should be at his side, not her."
Elena's chin rose higher. If they wanted a weakling, they would not get one tonight.
Then Cassandra appeared.
She swept into the hall in crimson silk, her gown clinging like flame, jewels glittering at her throat. Her smile lit up the room, though her eyes never strayed far from Adrian. With practiced grace, she raised her glass across the room, toasting silently, her lips curling into a smile meant only for Elena.
A warning. A promise.
Elena's stomach twisted, but she forced her shoulders back. She was not a shadow. She would not let Cassandra reduce her to one.
But as the music swelled and the crowd closed in, Elena felt the fragile seams of her dress tug with every movement, the silk whispering of betrayal with each step.
She prayed it would hol
d.
Because if it didn't, the battlefield would claim its first casualty — and it would be her.